���Ҵ�ý�ƽ������ PhD student’s paper argues that the hit film exemplifies ‘masculinity without patriarchy’ in media

M.G. Lord, author of Forever Barbie: The Unauthorized Biography of a Real Doll and co-host of the podcast LA Made: The Barbie Tapes, describes Greta Gerwig’s Oscar Award-winning, box-office behemoth  as “incredibly feminist” and widely perceived as “anti-male.”

Meanwhile, conservative critics rail that the movie is “anti-man” and full of “beta males” in need of a testosterone booster. Conservative British commentator Piers Morgan called it “an assault on not just Ken, but on all men.”

But University of Colorado Boulder women and gender studies doctoral student Julie Estlick sees things differently. In her recent paper, “,” published in Feminist Theory, she argues that the movie is “a really good film for Ken.”

On first viewing, Estlick noticed a woman nearby having a “very visceral, emotional response” to the now iconic monolog by actor America Ferrera, which begins, “It is literally impossible to be a woman.”

She wasn’t particularly moved by the speech, and walking out of the theater, she realized she didn’t see the movie as a clear-cut icon of feminism.

“I really questioned whether the film was actually about Barbie, and by extension, women, at least in the way people were claiming,” she says.

Once Barbie was available for streaming, Estlick took a closer look and arrived at a heterodox conclusion:

“Barbie is not anti-man; it is pro-man and is not necessarily a revolutionary film for women, at least not as much as it is for men,” she writes in the paper’s abstract. “This is because Barbie espouses non-hegemonic masculinity through cultural critiques that are rare to see in popular media.”

Hegemonic vs. toxic masculinity

For Estlick, “hegemonic masculinity” is a kind of stand-in for the “toxic masculinity” so often featured in media: superheroes, gangsters, vigilantes, killing machines who are also “lady killers.” Always strong, rarely emotional, such men are absurdly impermeable to harm, and sport chiseled features and perfectly sculpted abs, she says. Yet many are also “man children” whose “ultimate prize” is to have sex with a woman.

“That kind of media comes at the expense of women, works against women, and often oppresses women by sexualizing and objectifying them,” Estlick says.

Non-hegemonic masculinity is strong without being oppressive, and supportive and protective of women without regard to any quid pro quo. It allows for men to openly express emotions and vulnerability and to seek help for their mental-health struggles and emotional needs without shame, while retaining their strength, vitality and masculinity.

“It does the opposite of hegemonic masculinity,” Estlick says. “It works alongside women and doesn’t harm them in any way.”

The Kens are first represented in the movie as clueless accessories to the ruling Barbies of Barbie Land. But after Beach Ken (Ryan Gosling) and Stereotypical Barbie (Margot Robbie) find a portal to our world, Beach Ken returns and establishes a patriarchal society in which women become mindless accessories to hyper-competitive men in the thrall of hegemonic masculinity.

But ultimately, the patriarchy doesn’t serve the Kens any more than the Barbies.

“As people always say, men’s worst enemy under patriarchy isn’t women. It’s other men and their expectations, who are constantly stuffing men into boxes,” Estlick says.

Which isn’t to say that women don’t also enforce strictures of hegemonic masculinity.

“When little boys are taught to suppress emotions, little girls are watching. They are watching their fathers, and fathers onscreen, acting in certain ways,” Estlick says. “Girls internalize toxic ideologies the same ways boys do.”

Allan the exception

In Barbie, there is just one male who stands apart from Kendom: Allan, played by Michael Cera.

“Allan is positioned as queer in the film in that he is othered but not less masculine in the traditional understanding of the word,” Estlick writes. He “deviates from the conventional canon of masculinity” and “uses his masculinity for feminism and to liberate women while also protesting patriarchy.” 

Allan doesn’t fit into Kendom, with or without patriarchy. As the narrator (voiced by Helen Mirren) notes, “There are no multiples of Allan; he’s just Allan.”

The character is based on a discontinued Mattel doll released in 1964, intended to be a friend to Ken. Fearing the friendship might be perceived as gay, the company swiftly removed Allan from store shelves, later replacing him with a “family pack” featuring Barbie’s best friend Midge as his wife, and a backstory that the couple had twins.

In the film, non-toxic Allan is immune to patriarchal brainwashing and sides with the Barbies in re-taking Barbie Land.

“Right off the bat we see (Allan) as queered from the rest of the Kens and Barbies,” Estlick says.

But Beach Ken, too, eventually senses that he’s not happy in the patriarchal society has created. In one of the movie’s final scenes, a tearfully confused Beach Ken converses with Stereotypical Barbie from a literal ledge:

“You have to figure out who you are without me,” Barbie tells him kindly. “You’re not your girlfriend. You’re not your house, you’re not your mink … You’re not even beach. Maybe all the things that you thought made you aren’t … really you. Maybe it’s Barbie and … it’s Ken.”

In other words, Barbie is rooting for Ken to claim his individuality.

“Beach Ken’s house, clothes, job and girlfriend all represent boxes that society expects men to tick, but this scene illustrates that it is okay to deviate from normative behaviors of masculinity and that manhood is not solely defined through heteronormative bonds and behaviors,” Estlick writes. And “it is acceptable for men to admit to a woman that they need help.”

Barbie is pure, candy-colored fantasy. But in our world, Estlick believes it points the way toward further non-toxic media representations of masculinity and ultimately contribute to better mental health for men trapped in a “man box” — as well as women who have borne the burden of men’s self- and societally imposed strictures on their own humanity.

“(T)he film can be understood as a vital framework for masculinity that allows for vulnerability, emotion and heterosexual intimacy among men,” she concludes. It “(opens) the door to the creation of more media that subverts societal expectations of toxic masculinity.” 

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���Ҵ�ý�ƽ������ researcher Eva Pietri studies how stories can help address gender bias and create inclusivity

Eva Pietri wasn’t planning on being part of a documentary.

When the University of Colorado Boulder associate professor of psychology and neuroscience was contacted by the creators of , a film that takes an unflinching look at sexism and discrimination in STEM (science, technology, engineering and math), she was thrilled to discuss her research. Pietri, who has an extensive background studying gender bias in STEM, knows interventions often fail because facts alone rarely change minds.

But when paired with human narratives, they become undeniable.

“They’re doing exactly what I would have recommended,” Pietri recalls thinking as she watched the film engage audiences with compelling stories supported by data.

Now, explores how storytelling can be a powerful tool for shifting perceptions about gender bias and creating more inclusive environments. It supports what filmmakers have long believed—that stories can change culture.

Why facts alone aren’t enough

Traditional diversity training in STEM often follows a familiar formula: workshops, slideshows and statistical breakdowns of workplace disparities. Though well intentioned, such initiatives often fail to change minds.

Facts alone, it turns out, aren’t always enough.

“It’s easy when you hear one story, especially if you aren’t motivated to believe it, to think, ‘Well that was just you,’” Pietri explains. “But if we have some data to back that story up, the combination can be more persuasive.”

Her studies in social psychology reveal that the most effective interventions engage both the rational and emotional centers of the brain. This phenomenon, known as narrative persuasion, happens when people become absorbed in a story.

In short, emotional investment makes us more likely to find a new perspective and reconsider past assumptions.

“Having communications that use both stories and the data can be really powerful. And I think documentaries are a unique platform to do that,” Pietri says.

That’s precisely what makes Picture a Scientist effective. The film follows three women in STEM careers who recount their experiences with bias, harassment and institutional roadblocks. Their stories create an emotional connection, making it difficult for viewers to dismiss sexism as an abstract problem.

A case study in narrative persuasion

When Picture a Scientist arrived in 2020, its timing created an unusual moment. The COVID-19 pandemic had forced companies and universities to rethink their approach to workplace training, including diversity programs.

Traditional workshops, which already struggled to engage audiences, were relegated to Zoom. But the documentary offered a more compelling alternative.

Pietri and her colleagues saw an opportunity.

The filmmakers had already consulted with her during production, but after the film’s release, they proposed a new collaboration—testing whether it was truly changing attitudes and behaviors.

“Often diversity interventions are not evaluated,” Pietri says. “You could do a diversity training, and it could have worse effects or just no effect, and you’ve wasted all these resources.”

So Pietri and her team designed a study to measure the documentary’s impact. They found that Picture a Scientist was prompting real-world action, not just raising awareness.

“One of the most consistent findings we saw was with information seeking. The more people felt transported, the more they engaged emotionally with the film, the more likely they were to want to learn more about gender bias,” she explains.

Likewise, the study showed that this information-seeking behavior often persists after the initial screening.

“One really positive finding is that people who watch the film are motivated to continue looking up these issues and figuring out how they can make their workplace more equitable. They’re putting themselves in a position to keep gaining knowledge,” Pietri says.

Indeed, participants surveyed a month or more after watching the film reported stronger effects than those who answered immediately, suggesting that the film’s impact is long-lasting.

Pietri believes its entertainment value is partly responsible.

“I mean, this documentary is created by filmmakers, right? They’re not just academics. They know how to create something that’s really entertaining,” she says. “That’s why it was streaming on Netflix, because people, even outside their institutions, are just excited to watch it.”

Of course, stories don’t just educate. They also inspire.

Traditional bias training often focuses on the barriers marginalized groups face, which, while important, can leave viewers feeling hopeless rather than empowered. But when Picture a Scientist viewers see women overcoming challenges, it creates something valuable: role models.

“The film doesn’t just show bias,” Pietri says; “it also highlights these incredible women in STEM. And for students, especially female students of color, that representation is powerful.”

Limiting objections and creating change

Research shows that when people feel forced into a training session, they often react defensively, resisting the very ideas the program promotes. But storytelling doesn’t elicit the same pushback. Instead of feeling lectured, viewers become immersed in a story where they can process difficult topics with less resistance.

"One really positive finding is that people who watch the film are motivated to continue looking up these issues and figuring out how they can make their workplace more equitable. They’re putting themselves in a position to keep gaining knowledge"

That’s one reason Pietri believes storytelling and creative interventions will play an important role in the future of diversity training in STEM.

“This story-based approach addresses some of the limitations of traditional diversity workshops. Aside from people maybe being actually excited to see it and participate, it’s also very scalable,” Pietri says.

“We can show it without having to train facilitators or fly people out to host a panel or host multiple live sessions over Zoom. It’s really easy to scale and it’s not super expensive,” she adds.

Training alone won’t eliminate STEM’s gender-bias problem. However, Pietri’s work suggests that the right intervention can make a difference.

“I think one danger with anything that talks about bias is that it might dishearten people,” she says. “But storytelling, when done right, can motivate people to do something about it.”

Perhaps the most important lesson is that when building a more inclusive STEM community, in a field that thrives on innovation, a good story can be just as efficacious as the right experiment.

“If we can use the small windows for change opened by stories like this to make progress in reducing inequality and suffering, that would be a real win for current and future generations,” Pietri says. 

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In her Writing in the Age of AI course, ���Ҵ�ý�ƽ������ Teresa Nugent helps students think critically about new technology

One of the most contentious subjects in academia now is the use of AI in writing. Many educators fear that students use it as a substitute . And while students fear that they’re going to be accused of using it instead of doing their own critical thinking, some still use it anyway.

Some students, like their instructors, fear what AI is capable of, and they are highly uncomfortable with the risks associated with its use.

Teresa Nugent, a University of Colorado Boulder teaching associate professor of English, has seen all these perspectives. When she first read the 2023 essay “” by Columbia University undergraduate Owen Kichizo Terry, she knew that it was time for educators and students to better understand AI use in writing, even though it was scary.

Two years later, she is in her second semester of teaching ENGL 3016, Writing in the Age of AI. In this course, Nugent invites students to experiment with AI as part of their writing process and critically reflect on how these tools influence their ideas. Her students have conversations with chatbots about topics that they know well and evaluate whether the bots actually know what they’re talking about.

Nugent says she hopes that taking a class in which they are encouraged to talk about AI use allows students to explore possibilities, play with these tools, test their capabilities and determine how best to use them. By teaching students how to use AI as a tool to help develop their critical thinking skills instead of just avoiding that hard work, Nugent aims to prompt students to think about the wider implications of AI, and where it can ethically fit into an academic curriculum.

“We as educators have an obligation to help our students develop the skills that they’re going to need in the world that is developing around all of us,” Nugent says. “If we try to pretend AI isn’t here, we are doing students a disservice. We need to find ways to inspire students to want to learn; we need to spark their curiosity and motivate them to find meaningful connections between course content and the world.”

Mixed feelings about AI

Not all students are enthusiastic about AI. Nugent explains that, since the class fulfills an upper-level writing requirement, she has students of all different majors and experience levels. Many students, she notes, come in with a great deal of apprehension about using AI, something the class discusses openly on day one.

Nugent asks her students to think of a story they’ve been told—often by a parent or grandparent—about what life was like before some commonplace technology—like cell phones or the internet—was invented.

Someday, she reminds her students, they'll tell stories about what the world was like before generative AI. New technology is always emerging, and the best way to adapt to the changing world is to keep learning about it, she says.

Nugent also acknowledges the real risks that come with AI use. She offers students a plethora of readings expressing a range of perspectives on the subject—including  concerns about the unintended consequences of technological innovations and Mustafa Suleyman’s warning about the need to contain AI in his book The Coming Wave. Students read writings about how current educators have grappled with the release of AI chatbots and science fiction media depictions of AI, including the film Her and the dystopian serial Black Mirror.

Students also read texts about the harmful effects of AI on the environment, the issues of class and social justice that are entangled with AI use and psychological studies concerning AI.

Overall, Nugent says she wants students to leave the class with an informed understanding of AI. For their final project, students are required to research an aspect of AI in which they are particularly interested.

She says this leads to a wide array of research topics, often based on students’ majors; for example, an environmental studies major might research how to use renewable energy sources to power data centers. After writing academic papers, students reframe their research into a “blog” format that a general audience would find easily understandable.

“Knowledge is power,” Nugent says. “Being well informed about something always gives one more of a sense of agency than not being informed.” Ultimately, Nugent says she hopes that students will leave the class feeling confident and prepared to offer their knowledge about AI to society and keep themselves and others informed about this moment in technological history.

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���Ҵ�ý�ƽ������ event, now in its 11th year, will schmooze it up on March 12

For the past decade, Hebrew classes at the University of Colorado Boulder have hosted a novel event described as a rite of passage: the Schmooze-a-Palooza—part concert, part community building and part celebration of Hebrew and song.

The 11^th-annual Schmooze-a-Palooza will be held at 6:30 pm Wednesday, March 12, in UMC Room 235. Anyone with an interest in Hebrew is invited.

  What: 11th-annual Schmooze-a-Palooza

  When: 6:30 p.m. March 12

  Where: UMC Room 235

  Who: Anyone with an interest in Hebrew is invited.

Led by Eyal Rivlin, a teaching professor of Hebrew language in the Program in Jewish Studies and a professional musician, students in each class prepare a well-loved song in Hebrew—memorizing it, dressing up, creating a dance and performing it in front of their peers. 

Having taught in different capacities for more than 30 years, Rivlin wanted to extend learning beyond the classroom, help the different classes connect and inspire lifelong friendships.

“When we show up in creative and expressive manners, with permission to embody our inner rockstar, a vulnerability is tapped which sets the groundwork for connecting at deeper levels,” says Rivlin. “It is clear to me that in 20 years from now, many of my students will remember singing with their friends, taking a risk and showing up together and having fun in the context of learning a language.”

Through the years, the concert has expanded and now, in addition to class performances, Jewish Studies faculty offer a song from the stage, some students volunteer to perform solos and duets of their favorite Hebrew songs and members of the local Hebrew-speaking community prepare a song as well. This year there is even talk about a flash-mob dance, Rivlin says. 

Students have said that the event is a highlight of their CU journey. Songs are a great way to expand vocabulary and memorize sentences and expressions. They also offer the community a taste of different cultural themes and musical styles.

This annual live concert is free and an opportunity to meet new friends, learn some Hebrew expressions and cheer fellow Buffs, Rivlin says.

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The all-day event will bring together local and national scholars engaged in digital public humanities projects to advocate for social change

The project on the University of Colorado Boulder campus is sponsoring a one-day  symposium March 14.

This all-day event brings together local and national scholars engaged in digital public humanities projects to advocate for social change and who have worked to strengthen ethical data humanities education in higher education, said Laurie Gries, associate professor of English and director of the Program for Writing and Rhetoric, who is spearheading the symposium.

  What: Working with Data for Social Change symposium

  When: March 14

  Where: In-person at CASE KOBL 140 and online;  

All faculty, staff and students who want to learn more about the data humanities are invited.

The symposium aims not only to demonstrate and underscore the value of data advocacy research for the humanities at large, but also to generate collective ideas as to how to data advocacy education can be enhanced across the disciplines in higher education, according to Gries.

She said she believes the symposium will be of interest to faculty, staff and students who want to learn more about the data humanities and, more particularly, about data advocacy as a focus of research and/or pedagogy. Those interested in attending in-person or via Zoom can 

The symposium will feature scholars and activists from around the country, including Melissa Borja, Nasreen Abd Elal and Sylvia Fernández Quintanilla, who have advocated with data for social change on projects including the ,  and , respectively. Additionally, Gries will talk about her data-driven project, the , which was recently profiled in Colorado Arts and Sciences Magazine.

Gries said the symposium also will feature scholars who have worked intently to build data humanities education within and beyond the ���Ҵ�ý�ƽ������ campus. For instance, in addition to featured speaker Melanie Walsh discussing the  project, David Glimp, Nathan Pieplow and other ���Ҵ�ý�ƽ������ and CU Denver professors will speak about their efforts to train students how to engage data through critical, humanistic frameworks and how to use data effectively to address matters of significance to them and their communities.

Speaking of Gries’ efforts to spearhead the symposium, Glimp said, “Laurie has assembled a terrific team of collaborators to develop her vision of not only cultivating data literacy among our students but also equipping students with the tools to argue with data. By ‘arguing with data,’ I mean both being able to identify and assess all the ways data-backed arguments can mislead or go wrong, and being able to craft effective, responsible arguments with data about matters of the greatest urgency for our world.”

The Data Advocacy for All project was the recipient of a $300,000 CU Next Award in May 2022. 

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CU PhD candidate Chilton Tippin working to document migrant mortality in El Paso

With the desert sun beating down on the jagged trails of Mount Cristo Rey just outside El Paso, Texas, Chilton Tippin, a PhD candidate in cultural anthropology at the University of Colorado Boulder, wipes sweat from his brow. His backpack is weighed down with bottles of water and food—not for himself, but for the people his research group expects to find hiding in the desert.

In the distance, he sees groups of migrants who just crossed the Mexican border, many of them exhausted and injured, pursued by Border Patrol agents on horseback and in helicopters.

Tippin recalls this almost-daily scene on the mountain, a pilgrimage site that has become the deadliest crossing point along the U.S.-Mexico border.

He spent the summer of 2024 . Though he originally expected to study the environmental impact of the Rio Grande, the unfolding humanitarian crisis was too important to ignore.

“My dissertation is about the Rio Grande, but since the river has been turned into a border and become heavily militarized, it has become a site for a lot of violence and death,” he says.

Yet, when Tippin tried to gather data on how many migrants were dying in the El Paso region, he ran into another problem: bureaucratic stonewalls. Many deaths, he discovered, weren’t being officially counted at all.

Without accurate data, the full scale of the crisis in El Paso is obscured, he says, and over the course of his fieldwork, Tippin saw how systemic failures, political pressure and logistical challenges combine to erase countless migrant deaths from public view.

He’s on a mission to change that.

Life and death on Mount Cristo Rey

“We would go up the mountain regularly,” Tippin recalls, “because a lot of the migrants and undocumented people trying to sneak across would be staged just on the Mexican side of the border.”

Mount Cristo Rey, the northernmost peak of the Sierra Juárez mountain range, is famous for the 29-foot-tall statue of Jesus on the Cross at its summit. With roughly two-thirds of the mountain in Texas and the rest in Mexico, it has also become a major hotspot for border crossings.

“When we would approach, often there were 20 or 30 people just sitting there in the desert with no shade, and it’d be 110 degrees (F). They would come running to us, and we would drop our backpacks and hand out 50 water bottles and any food we could carry,” Tippin says.

The migrants he and his team encountered weren’t just battling the elements. Many had endured days or weeks of travel, cartel-controlled smuggling routes and the fear of being caught and detained, or worse.

“Because of the whole process of being chased by Border Patrol in the desert, where the heat is up to 115 degrees, people are malnourished, depleted and exhausted,” Tippin says. “Then they try to swim across the river, and they’re drowning. Or they’re going out into the desert and getting lost and succumbing to dehydration and heat illness.”

The mountain itself is a paradox, both a path to safety and a trap ready to spring. The rugged terrain provides cover from Border Patrol and makes expeditions up the slopes more difficult, but it also means there’s no easy escape if something goes wrong.

“The mountain itself is such a surreal landscape,” Tippin recalls. “We often felt like we were in The Matrix or The Twilight Zone because we could be up there just kind of walking on the trails, and people are getting chased and detained and tackled.

“It’s also weird because it’s a religious place. But at the same time you’re moving through that landscape, people are running for their lives.”

The cartel’s grip on the El Paso region

For many of the migrants Tippin encountered, danger didn’t begin on the mountain. In Ciudad Juárez, just across the border from El Paso, the Juárez Cartel has taken control of border crossings, turning human smuggling into a lucrative extension of its drug trade.

“I don’t want to push this idea that the violence is just a ‘Mexico problem.’ But the reality is that people wouldn’t be forced into these cartel-run routes if they had a safe, legal way to cross the border,” Tippin says.

Cartel smugglers, known as coyotes, lead groups of migrants across the border, often charging thousands of dollars per person. In the mountains, the cartel stations lookouts to monitor movements of migrant groups and evade the Border Patrol.

“They are just posted up on the peaks, watching for agents and guiding groups through,” Tippin says. “Border Patrol would try to menace them with helicopters, but they never actually go up there because it’s too dangerous.”

Even for individuals who make it safely across the border, the ordeal often isn’t over. Many are sent right back into cartel-controlled territory, where they face violence, extortion or death.

“That’s the deadly dynamic,” Tippin says. “People cross, they get pushed back and then they get extorted again. Women get assaulted. Families get separated. And they keep trying, because what choice do they have?”

The deaths no one wants to count

When the official numbers of migrant deaths didn’t match what Tippin was seeing on the ground, he quickly realized documenting the crisis would be harder than expected.

“I went through the whole summer filing open records requests, and I was told, ‘We don’t count migrants,’” he recalls. “Then when I tried to get autopsy reports, they said that if I wanted to see the records of drowning victims, it would cost over $4,000. And if I wanted a broader dataset—covering deaths in the desert as well—I got a bill for over $100,000.”

Tippin notes that U.S. Customs and Border Protection (CBP) , which may lead to underreporting. If a migrant drowns in the El Paso canals or is found in the desert by local first responders, the Texas National Guard or civilians, they aren’t counted in the official data. If they die in a hospital after being rescued, they also don’t make the list. Even if remains are discovered by CBP personnel but the person was not in custody, guidelines state the death isn’t reportable.

As a result, the official data can be off by hundreds—if not thousands—of deaths.

This isn’t just an oversight, Tippin notes. It’s part of a pattern. No More Deaths, a volunteer organization, , with actual migrant deaths sometimes exceeding CBP’s reports by two to four times.

For Tippin, the answer to why this happens is simple: Acknowledging the full scale of the crisis would shed light on the deadly consequences of U.S. border policies.

“I think that the deaths go uncounted because it’s inconvenient for the whole political and bordering apparatus to have it be known that, as a consequence of their policies and their practices, hundreds of people are dying in the United States, in the deserts and in the rivers that form the border,” he says.

Fighting for the truth

Despite the resistance, Tippin and several grassroots organizations aren’t giving up the fight. They’re using the limited data they have, as well as anecdotal fieldwork, to push for policy changes, local resolutions and new initiatives aimed at tracking and preventing migrant deaths.

“It’s such a preventable public health trend,” he says, “and the way we attempt to address problems such as these is to gather data on them.

“We need to make what’s happening apparent and use the data to strategically implement interventions that could help reverse this alarming and tragic trend.”

One organization in Tucson, Arizona, , is using this approach. It works directly with the local medical examiner’s office to gather precise data on migrant deaths. That data is then used to strategically place water stations in high-risk areas.

Tippin and others want to replicate that success in El Paso, but without government cooperation, progress is slow.

“The medical examiner’s office in Tucson works with humanitarian groups,” he explains. “In El Paso, they won’t even meet with us. That’s the difference.”

But activists like Tippin aren’t waiting for permission. They continue to document deaths, advocate for policy changes and pressure local officials to increase transparency.

Recently, Tippin and his research team went before the El Paso County commissioners, pushing them to acknowledge the crisis and demand more transparency from the medical examiner’s office.

“We recently had them pass a resolution decrying all the deaths in El Paso. It’s a step in the right direction, but we need more than words—we need action,” he says.

In the El Paso region, migrants continue to suffer and die from preventable causes. The work to help them is slow, and the resistance is strong. Yet Tippin and others refuse to back down because, ultimately, it’s not about numbers.

“These aren’t just statistics,” he says. “These are people. And until we start treating them as such, nothing is going to change.” 

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���Ҵ�ý�ƽ������ distinguished professor and Marine veteran Richard Jessor reflects on what the planting of the U.S. flag on Mount Suribachi Feb. 23, 1945, meant for the country and for him personally

Eighty years later, Richard Jessor vividly recalls hitting the beach on Iwo Jima on Feb. 19, 1945.

“The island had been under severe bombardment from U.S. aircraft and our Navy ships offshore,” says Jessor. “Both types of bombardment had been going on for quite some time, and the sense was that Iwo Jima could be taken in three or four days because nothing could have survived such a massive bombardment from American forces.”

The first three waves of Marines landed on the beach without taking enemy fire.

“By the time we in the fourth wave hit the beach, the Japanese—who were concealed, waiting for us—pulled their artillery out of the caves and had every inch of the beach registered, so when our tractor hit the beach, we were under severe fire,” recalls Jessor, then a 20-year-old Marine. “Our tractor got stuck at the beach edge and could not move us up, so we jumped out of the tractor into the water.

“As I hit the beach, I looked over and there was a Marine lying on his back, a bubble of blood coming out of his mouth. He died there, and that was my first exposure to combat.”

Jessor was hit in the back by shrapnel during the first day ashore but was able to continue fighting. After four days of fighting, he and his company were pulled back from the front line and told they could write one letter.

He wrote a letter to his parents, thanking them for everything they had done for him. He also said his goodbyes, “because I didn’t think anyone was going to get off the island alive,” he says, explaining, “there was carnage all of the time, every day, and you felt every day that it was going to be your last day.

“We were constantly being fired upon by the Japanese, who would come to the openings of their caves and fire, and then withdraw, so we didn’t see the enemy, and that was a huge source of frustration,” he adds. As it turned out, the Japanese had heavily fortified the island and had a dense network of tunnels from which they could launch attacks.

The flag raised atop Mount Suribachi

Back on the line the morning of the fifth day, Jessor looked at the opposite end of the island to see something in the distance atop Mount Suribachi, the dominant geographical feature on Iwo Jima.

“As I looked, I suddenly saw the American flag flying. I couldn’t see anything else that was that far away, but I saw the flag flying and I started shouting, ‘The flag is up! The flag is up!’” he says. “The other Marines around me began turning around to look. Seeing that made us realize that our rear was now being covered, because we had been under attack from behind as well as in front.

“For me, it was a moment of being able to say to myself, ‘Maybe I will get out of this alive,’” he adds. “In that sense, it was transformative for me, and I remember it well.”

The flag raising lifted the spirits of the Marines on the island, and later it did the same for a war-weary American public at home, when the image of Marines raising the flag was captured by Associated Press photographer Joe Rosenthal. Rosenthal won the 1945 Pulitzer Prize for photography, and the photo is one of the 

Jessor says the photo symbolized the Marines’ perseverance in the face of one of the bloodiest battles of the war, and it helped shape the public’s sentiment that victory in the Pacific was at hand. However, it also may have inadvertently created a false impression among the public, he says.

“Some people may think that when the flag went up the island was secure—and that was absolutely not the case,” Jessor explains. “When the flag went up, on day five, we still had 31 more days of fighting—and most of the casualties took place after the flag raising. Close to 7,000 Marines were killed in the 36-day battle.”

Meanwhile, as the Marines advanced, they sometimes came across the bodies of dead Japanese soldiers, whom they searched for souvenirs. Marines were particularly interested in Japanese “good luck flags,” which bore well wishes from friends and family and which were often tied around soldier’s waist.

“One morning, when I looked out my foxhole, I saw a dead Japanese soldier. I walked over to him to see whether he had a flag under his shirt, and as I bent over, I saw he had letters in his shirt pocket,” presumably from his family, he says. “Well, I had letters from family in my pocket—and suddenly I was struck by the fact that in so many ways we shared the same humanity. I couldn’t blame him any more than I could blame myself for being in the same situation. It gave me pause about how stupid it was to be engaged in this kind of activity (war).”

An epiphany amidst combat

Jessor called that moment an epiphany. He made two vows then and there: that he would never go to war again and that he would go on to do something meaningful with his life.

First, though, he had to get off the island alive.

His next challenge came a few days later, when he was ordered to take a Japanese soldier captured at the front lines under his guard to the beach, where interpreters could question the prisoner about the placement of weapons facing the Marines.

“As I said, there was a great deal of frustration that we could not see the enemy we were fighting, so I anticipated there could be some attempts on my prisoner as I started walking him back through the rear lines,” Jessor recalls. “As we got through the rear of the lines, where our artillery was, a Marine jumped up, running toward me and my prisoner, saying, ‘I’m going to kill that son-of-a-bitch.’

“I had to point my rifle at his head and say, ‘I have orders to shoot anybody who touches my prisoner,’ and so he stopped and finally backed off. And the same thing happened a second time before I got the prisoner to the beach and turned him over to command headquarters,” he says.

“As I’ve ruminated these 80 years, I’m not sure whether I would have shot that fellow Marine if he had not desisted from his threat, and it worries me that I might have done that.”

Finally, the objective is achieved

After 36 days, the Marines secured Iwo Jima. A short time later, U.S. aircraft were able to use its runway, which—combined with the island’s proximity to the Japanese mainland—made it a strategic military objective.

“Capturing Iwo Jima had immediate consequences for the approach to Japan,” Jessor says. “What was happening was that our bombers were leaving from Saipan or Tinian, and some of those bombers would get hit over Japan and not be able to make it back, so they would have to ditch in the sea, and many were lost. So, the fact Iwo Jima had a landing strip on it was important for that reason, as well as serving as a base for the projected attack on Tokyo.”

But the victory came at a tremendous cost to the Marines.

“We were destroyed. As I said, almost 7,000 Marines were killed on that island,” Jessor says. The scale of the loss was on display when Jessor and fellow Marines retraced their steps to the landing beach, which was arrayed with crosses where Marines were temporarily buried after falling in combat.

The Marines were shipped back to their training grounds in Maui for their next mission—the planned invasion of Japan.

They spent their days practicing landing craft invasions. At night, Jessor says he and a few of his fellow Iwo Jima veterans would gather in their tent to relive details of the battle, which he believes had a cathartic effect.

Jessor also recalls being on Maui when the United States dropped atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

“When the bomb dropped, we all thought it was a great thing,” he recalls. “We were saying to each other, ‘No more war! We get to go home!’”

However, in retrospect, as the scale of the death and destruction in those cities became known, Jessor says he reevaluated his opinion about that fateful decision. At the same time, Jessor says he developed a deep disdain for politicians who were so easily willing to put American troops in combat.

“They talk about it like it’s a game,” he says. “They haven’t the slightest sense of what combat is like and what it does to people and the destruction it causes. Even for the many people who survive the experience, their lives are changed forever.”

After the war

After he was discharged, Jessor made good on his promise to himself to make a difference for the better. After earning his doctorate, in 1951 he accepted a position as an assistant professor of psychology at ���Ҵ�ý�ƽ������.

During his ensuing 70 years at ���Ҵ�ý�ƽ������, he co-founded and later directed the (its building was recently renamed in his honor); wrote in January 1970 critiquing the lack of diversity on campus and making suggestions for positive changes; wrote a report in the 1960s that took the CU Board of Regents to task for being unresponsive to students and faculty, which earned him the ire of former Regent Joe Coors; and wrote 10 books. He retired as a distinguished professor in 2021, which makes him the university’s longest-serving professor.

Like many World War II veterans, Jessor rarely spoke of his experiences during the war, even to close friends and his own family. That changed for him after he saw the World War II movie , which opens with a scene of American soldiers storming the beaches of Normandy, France, under intense fire from German soldiers.

“As a trained clinical psychologist, I didn’t want to share my experiences with others, so I didn’t talk much about having been a Marine,” he says. “And then one day, my wife, Jane, and I were in Aspen. It was raining, so we couldn’t go hiking, so instead we went to the movies and saw Saving Private Ryan.

“The Steven Spielberg-directed movie was the real thing,” he says. “When the invasion scenes start at the beginning, I was sobbing, and the tears were running down my face. And while that was happening, I’m saying to myself, ‘You’re a psychologist and you didn’t know that you still had this inside you?’ And obviously, I didn’t.

“The movie brought it all back to me, and so I began talking about it from that point on.”

“I don’t ever want to forget that experience, because it strengthened me in many ways. Sometimes I would say to myself, ‘If I can get through Iwo Jima, I can get through anything.’ But in other ways, it reminds me what war is all about and what has to be done so they don’t happen anymore.”

Jessor had hoped to return to Iwo Jima last year. The  in New Orleans offered to cover all expenses for him and his wife to attend a Pacific war theater travel lecture tour series it offers to patrons, which was to include a visit to Iwo Jima. However, the island is open to visitors only one day a year, and volcanic activity on the island at the time resulted in the tour being cancelled. Noting his age—he is 100—Jessor says he’s unsure he will ever have the opportunity to return to the island, despite his strong desire to do so.

Reflecting on the past

These days, Jessor keeps some mementos on his work desk to remind him of his time on Iwo Jima: a deactivated Japanese hand grenade he took home from the battle and a jar containing black sand from the beach where he landed. The jar of sand was given to him by a friend who visited the island in 2002.

“Sometimes I’m barely aware they are there, and then other times I’ll look over and see the grenade or the vial of sand and it all comes back to me. It’s a reminder that I value a great deal,” he says.

“I don’t ever want to forget that experience, because it strengthened me in many ways. Sometimes I would say to myself, ‘If I can get through Iwo Jima, I can get through anything.’ But in other ways, it reminds me what war is all about and what has to be done so they don’t happen anymore.”

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Following a blockbuster opening weekend for Captain America: Brave New World, ���Ҵ�ý�ƽ������ Benjamin Robertson reflects on the appeal of superhero franchises and why they dominate studio release schedules

Captain America continues to conquer obstacles and crush villains―not bad for a man approaching age 85.

The comic book hero made his debut in print in December 1940, then on TV in 1966 and hit the silver screen in 2011―gaining massive momentum along with way. This past Presidents Day weekend, the fourth installment of the superhero series, “Captain America: Brave New World,” hit the top spot at the box office in the United States, and .

It’s the fourth-best Presidents Day launch on record, behind three other superhero movies: Black Panther, Deadpool and Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania.

What’s going on here? What’s giving Captain America his muscle? And why do folks keep going back to these same stories, characters and worlds over and over?

Benjamin Robertson, a University of Colorado Boulder assistant professor of English who specializes in popular culture, film and digital media, says there are two answers: “One, the genre is comforting in its repetitiveness. This is the least interesting answer, however,” he says.

The second answer appears a little more sinister. Robertson says viewers return to these stories because creators make “story worlds that solicit consumers’ attention and that must always grow and that turn increasingly inward.”

He says the first Iron Man film is about America intervening in the Middle East following Sept. 11, but later MCU (Marvel Cinematic Universe, the franchise behind many superhero movies) films seem less and less about real or historical matters and more about the MCU itself.

“As a colleague once put it, every MCU film is simply the trailer for the next MCU film, the result of a strategy that seeks to create a fandom that can’t escape from the tangled narrative that the franchise tells,” he explains.

In short, Robertson says if consumers want to know the full narrative—the full world that these films and series describe—they have to go to the theater. “As this world becomes about itself rather than about external history or real-world events, a certain ‘lock in’ manifests, making it harder and harder to not see these films if one wants to understand the world they create.”

‘Flatter American identities’

Another trick is that MCU films tend to “flatter American identities” by celebrating militarism, focusing on charismatic heroes who try to do the right thing unconstrained by historical necessity and suggesting that everything will work out in the end, Robertson says.

“I can see the more comforting aspects of these films having appeal to many consumers. Don’t fear climate change, fear Thanos [a supervillain] and other embodiments of badness,” he says.

As to the question of whether franchises are just growing their worlds and the characters in them, or retelling the same story because it makes money, Robertson says each MCU film is a piece of intellectual property, but an individual film is far less valuable than a world.

“A film might spawn a sequel or sequels, but without developing the world, the sequels will likely be of lesser quality and, eventually, no longer be profitable or not profitable enough to warrant further investment,” Robertson says. “But if producers develop the world into a complex environment that contains numerous characters with distinct and yet intersecting story arcs, well, then you have the foundation for potentially unlimited storytelling and profit in the future.”

He adds that in that context, Captain America has obvious value as an individual character, but he has far more value as part of a world that can develop around him and allow for new actors to play him as he evolves with the world.

So, as the world grows as an intellectual property and in narrative development, "so does the potential for profit, although we may now be seeing the limits of this dynamic as some MCU films have not been doing as well at the box office over the past five years, although there are likely several factors that contribute to this decline.”

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Are Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy the greatest love story? ���Ҵ�ý�ƽ������ Grace Rexroth weighs in

What is the greatest love story of all time?

This is a question many like to consider, discuss and debate, especially around Valentine’s Day. Whether you’re more of a romantic at heart or a casual softie, you’ve more than likely heard or expressed the opinion that there is no love story quite like Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy in Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice.

Despite being more than 200 years old, something about this classic novel transcends centuries and social changes to remain a text with which many people connect, whether on the screen, stage or in the pages of the novel.

What makes this love story so memorable and so beloved? Is it truly the greatest love story of all time, or is there something else about it that draws readers in again and again?

According to Grace Rexroth, a teaching assistant professor in the University of Colorado Boulder Department of English who is currently teaching a global women’s literature course focused on writing about love, the historical context in which Jane Austen wrote Pride and Prejudice is crucial to understanding the novel's inner workings.

The Regency Era was a period of intense revolution and change. There still were very strict social norms surrounding marriage and status, which are evident in the novel, but it’s also important to consider that proto-feminist ideals, such as those expressed by Mary Wollstonecraft, were influencing conversations about the position of women in society, Rexroth notes.

Even at the time of publication, Pride and Prejudice was perceived differently between opposing political groups—more conservative thinkers saw it as a story that still rewarded conservative values, such as humility, beauty (always beauty) and a reserved disposition. Other, more progressive readers saw it as standing up to the status quo.

To this day, readers and scholars often debate whether Austen was writing to criticize or praise Regency Era ideas about women’s autonomy. In The Making of Jane Austen, author Devoney Looser observes, “It sounds impossible, but Jane Austen has been and remains a figure at the vanguard of reinforcing tradition and promoting social change.”

Nuance helps it endure

The fact that Pride and Prejudice lends itself to different interpretations is part of the reason why it’s lived such a long life in the spotlight, Rexroth says. It has managed to appeal to what people—specifically women—have wanted and fantasized about through different eras following its publication.

According to Looser, both film and stage adaptations have highlighted different aspects of the text for different reasons. During its first stage adaptations, for instance, the emphasis was often placed on Elizabeth’s character development. In fact, the most tense and climactic scene in these early performances was often her final confrontation with Lady Catherine De Bourgh, when Elizabeth asserts that she’s going to do what’s best for herself instead of cowering under Lady Catherine’s anger at her engagement to her nephew, Mr. Darcy.

Such scenes emphasize Elizabeth’s assertiveness and self-possession in the face of social pressure. Featuring this scene as the climax of the story is quite different from interpretations that focus on the suppressed erotic tension between Elizabeth and Darcy.

This doesn’t mean that adaptations prioritizing the romantic union didn’t soon follow. In 1935, Helen Jerome flipped the narrative on what Pride and Prejudice meant to a modern audience by casting a young, conventionally attractive man to play Mr. Darcy. Looser refers to this change as the beginning of “the rise of sexy Darcy,” a phenomenon that has continued in the nearly 100 years following this first casting choice.

In many ways, the intentional decision to make Mr. Darcy physically desirable on stage coincided with the rising popularity of the “romantic marriage”—a union founded on love and attraction rather than on status and societal expectations. Before this, Mr. Darcy’s being handsome was just a nice perk to Elizabeth, not a clear driving force for her feelings towards him.

From loathing to love

This is not to say there’s no implication of attraction in the original novel, though. There’s something magnetic about Darcy and Elizabeth’s relationship from the very beginning, when they profess their distaste for each other as the reigning sentiment between them (though readers can see that Elizabeth really doesn’t seem to mind being insulted by Mr. Darcy until later in the novel). It’s a quintessential “enemies to lovers” narrative, Rexroth says.

In that way, the novel offers a hint of the unruly desires driving many creative decisions in most modern film adaptations—from the famous “wet shirt” scene in the 1995 BBC adaptation with Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle, to what some critics argue is a highly over-dramatized first proposal scene staged in the rain in the 2005 Keira Knightly version. That sense of tension between Elizabeth and Darcy, unsaid but palpable, is a draw that has reeled in modern audiences to the point of obsession.

Rexroth suggests that part of the novel’s appeal hinges on what can and cannot be expressed in the text: “Because discussions of sex and desire are fairly repressed in the novel, emotional discourse has more free reign, which is often appealing to modern readers who experience a reverse set of tensions in modern life. Modern discourse, while often privileging a more open discussion of sex, often places tension on how and why we express emotion—especially in romantic relationships.”

Modern sexual liberation, especially through the eyes of women, has been an integral part of feminist movements. However, feminism also offers reminders that when the world still is governed by misogynistic ideas about sex—including women as the object and men as more emotionally unattached sexual partners—key aspects of what sex can mean from an anti-misogynist viewpoint are lost.

This, perhaps, is one reason that Pride and Prejudice is so appealing to women battling standards of sexuality centered around patriarchy, and who find themselves longing for something more—a “love ethic,” as author bell hooks called it.

However, is Pride and Prejudice really a perfect example of a "love ethic”? Rexroth also asks her classes to consider the pitfalls of how readers continue to fantasize about Pride and Prejudice, potentially seeing it as a model for modern romantic relationships.

Questions of true autonomy

While Elizabeth exercises her autonomy and free choice by rejecting not one but two men, standing up to Lady Catherine and overall just being a clever and witty heroine, she is still living within a larger society that privileges the status of her husband over her own and sees her value primarily in relation to the ways she circulates on the marriage market.

For that reason, women are never really autonomous, Rexroth says. How can they be, when Elizabeth’s decision to reject a man could potentially ruin her life and the lives of her sisters? Or when her sister Lydia’s decision to run away with Mr. Wickham nearly sends the entire family into ruin? What happens to Elizabeth in a world without Darcy?

This, according to Rexroth, is the danger of looking at Pride and Prejudice uncritically. Though readers and scholars may never know if Austen meant it to be a critical piece about the wider societal implications of the marriage market—although it can be inferred pretty strongly that she did mean it that way, Rexroth says—it does have startling implications towards modern relationships that we tend to find ourselves in.

“Modern discussions of love often focus on the individual, psychological aspects of relationships rather than the larger social networks that structure them,” Rexroth explains. “My students sometimes think that if they just work on themselves, go to the gym and find the right partner, everything will be okay—they’re not always thinking about how our larger social or political context might play a role in their love lives.”

The fantasy of Pride and Prejudice tends to reinforce this idea, she adds. It’s not that the world needs to change—the fantasy is that finding the right man will “change my world.” Such fantasies tend to treat patriarchy as a game women can win if they just play it the right way, Rexroth says. If a woman finds the right man or the right partner, that man will somehow provide the forms of social, economic or political autonomy that might otherwise be lacking in a woman’s life.

Such fantasies sidestep the question of what produces true autonomy—and therefore the capacity to fully participate in a romantic union, she adds.

So, is Pride and Prejudice the ultimate love story? Ardent fans might argue yes—a “perfect ending” with a “perfect man” is the quintessential love story, and who can blame readers for wanting those things? Happy endings are lovely. 

Others, however, might still wish that Mr. Darcy had behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.

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Xuedong Liu of ���Ҵ�ý�ƽ������ is one of 170 ‘exceptional inventors’ who are helping to ‘propel us into the future,’ academy says

Xuedong Liu, a University of Colorado Boulder professor of biochemistry, has been named a member of the 2024 Class of Fellows by the , the group recently announced.

Liu is one of an elected group of 170 “exceptional inventors” honored in 2024.

The 2024 cohort of fellows exemplifies the academy’s belief that groundbreaking innovation knows no bounds and inventors can be found everywhere, the NAI said, adding that the honorees represent 39 U.S. states and 12 countries.

“This year’s class of NAI Fellows represents a truly impressive caliber of inventors. Each of these individuals are tackling real-world issues and creating solutions that propel us into the future. Through their work, they are making significant contributions to science, creating lasting societal impact and growing the economy,” said Paul Sanberg, NIA president.

He added: “NAI Fellows as a whole are a driving force of innovation, generating crucial advancements across scientific disciplines and creating tangible impacts as they move their technologies from lab to marketplace.”

Liu’s laboratory works to understand the fundamental mechanisms underlying cell-cell communication. Aberrations of normal signaling networks can lead to human diseases such as cancer. The Liu laboratory is developing novel therapeutic solutions for treating cancer and neurodegenerative diseases.

Liu is co-founder of OnKure Therapeutics (Nasdaq: OKUR) and founder of Vesicle Therapeutics. His lab discovered and patented a profile-specific histone deacetylase inhibitor, which has entered phase II clinical trials, and a new type of drug delivery system.

He received his PhD in genetics from the University of Wisconsin-Madison in 1994 and was a National Institutes of Health and Department of Defense postdoctoral fellow at the Whitehead Institute for Biomedical Research at Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Liu joined the ���Ҵ�ý�ƽ������ faculty in 2000 and won the university’s Inventor of the Year Award in 2013.

"I am deeply honored to receive this recognition,” Liu said. “This accolade not only validates the impact of our team's work but also highlights the indispensable contributions of my trainees, collaborators, colleagues and co-founders over the years. More than a personal milestone, it is a testament to the collective effort and dedication that have driven our innovations in tackling challenging problems. Additionally, this accomplishment reflects the entrepreneurial spirit cultivated by Venture Partners at our university, whose support has been essential.”

The 2024 Class of Fellows will be honored and presented their medals by a senior official of the United States Patent and Trademark Office (USPTO) at the  on June 26 in Atlanta.

The NAI Fellows Program was established to highlight academic inventors who have demonstrated a prolific spirit of innovation in creating or facilitating outstanding inventions that have made a tangible impact on quality of life, economic development and the welfare of society.

The NAI Fellows Program has 2,068 fellows worldwide, representing more than 300 universities and governmental and nonprofit research institutes. Collectively, the Fellows hold more than 68,000 issued U.S. patents, which have generated more than 20,000 licensed technologies, 4,000 companies and created more than 1.2 million jobs. In addition, more than $3.2 trillion in revenue has been generated based on NAI Fellow discoveries, the academy said.

Among all NAI Fellows, there are more than 170 presidents and senior leaders of research universities, governmental and nonprofit research institutes; about 755 members of the National Academies of Science, Engineering and Medicine; about 63 inductees of the National Inventors Hall of Fame; 70 recipients of the U.S. National Medal of Technology and Innovation and U.S. National Medal of Science; and 57 Nobel Laureates.

The  is the highest professional distinction awarded solely to academic inventors. The full list of 2024 Fellows can be found .

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